That Snooping, Stealing, Sneaky Shawn!
by ThatDamnHBKGirl
Summary: Sometimes Shawn Michaels isn’t always as saintly as he seems, John Cena and Randy Orton find that out the hard way. It isnt as serious as the summery leads.. Please read and review! :P


[b]Title: [/b] That Snooping, Stealing, Sneaky Shawn!

[b]Summary:[/b] Sometimes Shawn isn't always as saintly as he seems, John Cena and Randy Orton find that out the hard way.

[b]Warnings: [/b] took me a couple hours and a headache but i was hyper when i came home and this is what happened. prepare urselves for..whatever the heck this is. lol.

[b]Notes/Spoilers:[/b] My first story im posting on .. hope y'all like!

[b]Characters/Pairings (if any):[/b] none. non-slashish. what a surprise!!!

"You're kidding me!" John Cena gasped, thoroughly flabbergasted.

"No, and then, get this- he comes up behind-" Randy's sentence was cut in half as the air flew out him, head slamming back into the tile floor of the locker room. A giggling Shawn Michaels that was no where to be seen previously was suddenly on top of him as John stood, staring down at the new sight, bewilderment plastered on his smooth features.

Randy stared pointedly at the man habituating his chest. "Michaels, what in the blue he-"

"Shhh shh shhh!!!" Shawn pushed two joined fingers roughly at Randy's lips, silencing him before burying himself back into Randy's collarbone. The younger man threw his hands up, letting his head lay back against the floor.

A few awkward moments passed as superstars passing by the open door of the locker room glanced in, bemused expressions shot at them, but no questions asked, as usual when it came to Shawn.

"Uhm…Shawn?" John crouched down, his face at eye level with the man lying on top of his best friend. John waited patiently as a few more muffled "Shhh!"s came his way. He glanced at Randy, who glared back, obviously annoyed at the situation, before shrugging and inching closer towards Shawn. He played with the elder man's golden mane for a moment, admiring the effect it had on Shawn's never ending supply of giggles, before getting even closer.

"Shawn," he whispered, pulling back the blonde curtain concealing Shawn's face and curling it behind his ear. "Shawnee... Why must we shh?"

"…Because!" Shawn's ocean water eyes narrowed at them both, as though they were asking too many questions. He opened his mouth again, trying to figure out how to spit it out, before being over come with another round of spasms, and letting his head fall back to Randy's midsection with a thud, making Randy flinch and groan again.

"Shawn, just tell us what the hell you're doing in my locker room, on me, and why won't you get the hell off me?"

"Shhhhh!" he tried shushing Randy's raised voice again, only to have his hand smacked away from the other's lips.

"Get off me old man!" He yelled, trying to pry a latched-on Shawn off his waist. He grabbed onto Cena's shorts, trying to pull himself up, as John stood and watched the proceedings.

"I wish I had a camcorder. The way this looks, kinda… homoerotic."

"I'm going to kick your ass if you don't help me soon!"

"Aww, but then I couldn't film."

"Shhhh, please! They're gonna find me if you don't shut up!"

"It would have a real nice shot when you stick it up your bubble ass- hold up, whose gonna find you, Shawn?" Randy snapped his head towards the man curled up on his muscular chest, his anger evaporating and quickly condensing into worry.

"Shawn, whose coming for you man?" John said soothingly, stroking the back of Shawn's head, kneeling once again.

"Don't you hear that?" Shawn croaked, a suddenly different man with no traces of the incapacitating giggles that wracked him earlier, nodding in the direction of the still open door. Randy lifted his head from the floor, listening as intently as John, hearing the faint sounds of a metal object clashing with another object repeatedly and several raised voices. "They heard you say my name, they know where I am!" he groaned.

"Shawn, what did you do?" John whispers, eyes wide at the man now resting in the fetal position on his chest.

Shawn bit his lower lip. "I was bored! Hunter was in a meeting with Vince today, as was half the locker room…" He faltered as the noises came louder. "And so I was just looking through peoples bags-"

"Hold up- you were snooping? That's not cool dude!" John interrupted.

"No, no not snooping! I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just...wanted to see what people had! It was entertaining for a while! Then it got boring, so I had to add a twist…you know me."

Both men stared at the legend, neither daring to ask what his twist was, each having demented ideas of their own. Shawn's eyes shifted back and forth, watching the men's faces for a moment.

"It's not that bad!" He sputtered defensively.

"Did you steal people's stuff, Shawn?"

"No John, I mean yeah I did, but I was gonna-"

John raised his eyebrows. "Was gonna?"

"I-I [i]am[/i] gonna give it back, I just wanted to see-"

"So you're snooping and stealing?"

"No, Randy gah, I...here!" he cried, running across the room and flinging a plastic bag at Orton, who caught it and scrambled up to his feet, peering into the gaping bag.

"Dude…" the bag crinkled as Randy began extracted several items and handed them off to Cena. His eyes widen as he groped a bag of Irish "leprechaun" gold, Chris Jericho's beloved hair gel, Kofi's hair beads….

"Dude, there's more in here...who had a G.I. Joes? Oh right…Punk…saw him playing with them with Rey one time after he won the championship… Who the hell plays a triangle?" Randy stared, dumbfounded, at the small metal instrument.

"Kane, it's his secret talent." Shawn sighed, sitting down on the bench.

"Ahh, alrighty then. What's next… Adamle's dictionary? Ha, I was just kidding when I said he needed to buy one!" He chuckled. "Hmm… whoa, what the hell?" Randy grimaced, pulling out a familiar stuffed animal.

Cena raised his eyebrows for the second time that night. "Is that…a chick-?"

"A cock." Shawn corrected, not bothering to look up from his palms at the poultry, as the arguing got closer.

"Vince," Randy shocked whisper filtered through Shawn's fingers. "You went though McMahon's suit case? Oh my god…bravo! Brav- Oof!"

John removed his elbow from Randy's ribs. "Don't encourage him!" John spat, shaking his head.

"Whatever…sorry. They're almost here, Sha-…Shawn? Dude, he's gone!" Randy did a full three-sixty, eyes scanning for the absent Heartbreak Kid. "Where'd he go?"

"He couldn't have gone far, he was just right…oh shit." Cena gulped.

Crowding the doorway, blocking the hallway lights were several of the largest superstars, ranging from low carders to main eventers, all looking severely p***** off, all looking straight at Randy and John, who quickly realized they had all of the fellow superstar's personal items in their possession.

"T-this isn't what it looks like, w-we didn't take your stuff-"

"Don't say it was HBK!" John hissed. "We owe him this, remember? From the night he saved us when we pushed that lady wearing all white into the hotel pool? He covered for us! This is our payback, all right? So stay quiet Randy! It can't be that bad!""

The silence stretched on as Randy glared at John, backs against the lockers, waiting for someone to speak.

"Damn it, where is it?" The first voice rang out, resoundingly different from all the whispered threats floating around the other men.

"Where's my Moby Dick damn it…" the big show easily parted the men like they were the sea to his Moses and opened his paw, palm up, waiting for his treasured novel.

Behind him, Jericho followed suit, screeching, "Where's my hair gel? Not f***ing funny guys, I got a match in twenty minutes, and I can't go out there with flat hair! No one would take me seriously, I gotta be a sexy beast!"

"I want me gold back, you nasty little thieves! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Randy and John were pressed against the lockers at this point, not daring to move, and couldn't make a sound if they wanted to. Twenty superstars stood infront of them, screaming at the duo, but a gravelly voice pierced through them all as they quieted down.

"Randal Keith Orton…" Vince growled, stomping his way to the front. "where's my…'thing' you stole from me, I swear to god ill have your head for this! Better yet, ill call your father!"

"No!" Randy screamed, finding his voice.

"Yes! And why the hell did you post these-" Vince fumbled around In his pockets, before pulling out dozens of flyers of Shawn Michaels photos from the 1996 PlayGirl shoot, gracing them with nothing but the WWF title on. "I had business clients today, I bring them into my office to see [i]this[/i]all over my walls?!"

"I-i…sir, i…" Randy started, sweat beading their place on his forehead. He mind raced, trying to find anything to make the situation better, but coming up short. Shawn had done a lot more than just snooping.

A break in the arguing allowed him to hear sharp intakes of breath that sounded strangely like muffled laughter in the locker behind him. This fists clenched as his teeth did, hissing, "Shawn, here's your death notice right now- I'm going to kill you when I get out of this, and it will be slow… and painful."

"Like one of your promos?" The voice laced with giggles whispered back, floating over the sound of all the demands made by superstars awaiting their possessions back, crowding around John, and Randy could feel himself lose it.

"F*** you, bastard!"

All the wrestlers milling just a foot away from him stopped, each taking personal offence to the swear that just echoed around the room. Randy clamped his hand over his mouth, while John, wide eyed, stared at all the fists that suddenly made their presence known.

"Oh hell, Randy..." John gaped, eyes searching for the exit as the group of stars lurched forward in unison.

"Wait!" a rough voice shattered the threats, and immediately the room went silent as veteran Triple H walked up to the two nervous men, hands over their faces defensively, watching them through narrowed eyes.

"I have one question for the both of you," he growled dangerously. "Where is Sledgie?"

"Sledgie?" John exchanged nervous glances with Randy.

"The thing he's gonna beat our asses with unless to take it out of the damn bag…" Randy muttered.

John's eyes widened. "Oh your sledge hammer! Oh it's...it's…" John's eyes squinted into the bag, fear wracking his muscular frame as he came to the final conclusion. "It's not in… here. We uh, we don't have it…" Cena bit his lip, watching Hunt's face begin to turn red.

A quiet tapping noise stole Randy's attention from the pre-murder scene to the locker where Shawn was safely hidden, and immediately wished he hadn't, as through the locker's metal blinds, could see Shawn Michaels, rocking a sledge hammer in his arms as though it were a small child, a cheesy grin etched on his face.

"Motherfu-" Randy whisked around as he heard a thud, seeing John Cena lying on the ground a head of him, in a heap. He grimaced at the sight, knowing he was next as he slowly looked up, bracing himself mere moments as the first connected with the bridge of his nose.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's your fault, we shoulda just ratted him out! First he attacks me, then he steals stuff, then he blames it on us and look where we are now, John!"

"Stop you're damn complaining." John whispered back. "It's not like it's gonna get us down from here."

"Yeah, no talking up there!" Shawn yelled upwards, one hand shielding his eyes, the other shaking a stacked waffle cone at the men. "Or my bud Hunty will have to serve ya up another knuckle sandwich!" He shouted again, this time flailing both fist at the two men.

"Get us down, Shawn! We covered for you, now cut us some slack!" Randy screamed, wriggling his body, trying to get free.

"Nah…the green duck tape looks simply ravishing on you two!"

"Not when it's binding us to a building, it's not! You're mental!" John yelled.

Shawn grinned. "Well I'd say you two look pretty hot right now!"

"We're strapped to a goddamn wall on the side of an arena at noon in Texas, its frickin 105 degrees up here!"

"Then you should think twice before you try stealing again, you naughty little boys. Now…going to the pizzeria with Hunt. Want anything?" He skipped around below them again, finishing off his cone.

John tugged at the tape holding him against the wall. "Gimme liberty or give me death!"

"So be it. See you guys in two hours. Behave yourselves!" He sang as he hopped away gleefully again.

"Hey look, I got my middle finger free, Shawn, look!" Randy screamed again.

John sighed, shaking his head at the retreating silhouette. "That man really does need an attitude adjustment."


End file.
